


fight me

by impulserun



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulserun/pseuds/impulserun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is sick. Grantaire is smitten. (Hospital AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fight me

**Author's Note:**

> Based off that one tumblr post.

“Fight me,” Enjolras coughs, lungs rattling from the effort of breathing. His nurse – a tall, scruffy, muscly _god_ of a man whose eyes have no business being that blue – just laughs and fluffs up one of his pillows.

“Maybe when you’re better,” he teases, and adjusts something on Enjolras’ IV drip before leaving the ward. The room blurs out of focus in a haze of drugs and pain.

*

“Fight me,” Enjolras mumbles, voice hoarse and throat scratchy. Mucus drips from his nose; his nurse – _Grantaire_ , his tag reads, now that Enjolras is sober enough to read it – shakes his head with a smile.

“ _Fight me_ ,” he tries to say again, but the words catch in his throat and he’s coughing, his lungs rattling again, every wheezing breath a fight against his traitorous chest muscles, _fuck_ , he _hates_ bronchitis –

Grantaire is at his side almost immediately, bundling him into yet another blanket and pressing a cup of warm water into his hands. He takes a slow, shaky sip; it tastes like nectar and ambrosia.

“I could, but I won’t,” says Grantaire, his eyes twinkling ( _twinkling_ ). “You’d probably win, anyway.”

*

Days pass. Enjolras slips in and out of drug-induced sleep, the only rest he can get fitful at best. At last the virus runs its course and he’s free; free to go home and work and catch up on his term papers and suffer under the weight of the Combestare for not going to bed when he’s still sick, really Enjolras, do you want to end up in hospital again –

Maybe Courfeyrac will let him crash at his house for a while, he decides.

His bags are packed and ready when the discharge papers finally come in; he jerks awake with a start when the door swings closed. Grimly, he rubs a hand over his face and grimaces when it comes away slightly wet with snot – he hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep.

Stretching, Enjolras pushes himself to his feet and turns to the bags at his bedside; then, something catches his eye. There’s a cup of coffee on the table, cheap and store-bought, but coffee all the same. He picks it up – and finds a hastily scribbled note beneath its base. Two words, and a phone number.

_Fight me? ;)_


End file.
